Time passed in a blur of mud, rain, and hard work. We moved portable fencing from three different pastures, relocated equipment to higher ground, and guided two dozen head of cattle to safer grazing areas. Tommy and Luke handled the heavy machinery while Dad, Mike, and I dealt with fence sections, securing tarps, and moving smaller generators to dry storage.
The rain never let up. Steady, soaking precipitation turned every surface slick and made the even simplest tasks twice as difficult. Somewhere around the two-hour mark, my left shoulder seized up—sharp, immediate pain that shot down my arm when I lifted the next fence post. The rain drummed against my jacket hood too loudly, each drop hitting like small stones.
Focus. Next section of fence. Next piece of equipment.
But the rhythm I’d been desperately holding onto started to slip. Lift, carry, secure—lift, carry—my hands weren’t gripping right. The generator slipped in my hands. I nearly dropped it before Mike grabbed the other end.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine,” the word came out more clipped than I’d intended.
The cold had soaked through everything—jacket, hat, gloves, skin. My mind kept wanting to worry about the overall plan, losing focus of the immediate task, the next immediate step.
Just after noon, we’d successfully relocated everything critical from the flood-prone areas—the upper pastures were secure, cattlemoved to safety, and all the expensive equipment protected.
“That’s everything on the priority list,” Dad wiped rain from his face as we loaded the last of the tools into the truck bed. “Nice work, everyone.”
The drive back to the main house took too long. Rain drummed on the truck roof—too loud, too angry. The low throb at the base of my skull spread down my neck, into my shoulders. I sat between Dad and Luke in the cab—every sway, every bump in the road felt like I was stranded in a dinghy in rough seas. My stomach lurched.
Food. Rest. Alex.
The thoughts came disconnected. Fragmented. I couldn’t string them together properly.
“You holding up okay, son?” Dad asked, glancing at me as he navigated around a growing puddle in the road.
“Yeah, just tired,” the words felt thick in my mouth. I rubbed my forehead but the pressure just moved—didn’t ease. “Ready to get out of this rain.”
“Good thing we got everything moved when we did,” Luke added, checking his phone. “Creek levels seem to be rising faster than expected.”
Creek levels. Rising water. Alex back at the house—
My pulse skipped and thudded for no good reason.
As we approached the main house, I could see more activity than when we’d left—trucks parked at odd angles, people moving with urgency that meant something had changed while we were gone. Dad pulled up next to the house and cut the engine.
“Wonder what’s going on,” he frowned at the scene.
I climbed out of the truck after Luke. My left leg buckled—caught myself against the truck bed before I went down. The kitchen windows—empty. Alex wasn’t there.
Where’s Alex?
The question hit sharp and immediate. She should be there. Atthe table with her laptop, coordinating like she’d promised. Safe. Dry. Away from—
“Nolan! Boys!” Mom appeared on the porch, waving us toward the back of the house. “Thank God you’re back. We need everyone. The creek behind the house is flooding.”
Creek. Flooding. Alex—
My chest locked up.
“How bad?” Dad fell into step beside Mom as she led us around the corner of the main house.
“Bad enough that we’re sandbagging. Started rising about an hour ago. Caught us completely off guard.”
The sound of rushing water hit me before I saw it. The creek that normally meandered quietly behind the house had turned angry and urgent, dark water swirling with debris and foam.
And Alex was right in the middle of it.
No. No no no—
